


Strange Brew

by ivanolix



Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Female Characters, Female Friendship, Female-Centric, Gen, POV Female Character, Season/Series 02, Wordcount: 1.000-5.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-06-02
Updated: 2010-06-02
Packaged: 2017-10-24 12:20:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/263413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ivanolix/pseuds/ivanolix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cally and Jean share drinks, and lives that were never supposed to take a turn like this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Strange Brew

Cally smiled for the first time in weeks, and winced.

“Told you,” Cottle grunted, but it didn’t overwhelm the warmth in his eyes.

“Thanks anyway,” Cally said as she put her hand to her once-wired jaw. She breathed out and slipped from the bed, tugging her hospital gown into place.

A smile of the heart was good enough when she got dressed and didn’t have to worry about catching her sore face on the tight neck of her uniform tanks. Despite the danger of a yawn coming on, her chin stayed up as she walked out, hopping over the lip of the hatch. Another bad memory cleansed, for now.

Ever since they’d decided to stay by this planet—New Caprica—Cally had sensed more truth in everything. Smiles were less forced, as long as they weren’t directed at the new President by Roslin or Adama. People meant the silly toasts they made grinningly, even when tipsy on the dangerously-clear alcohol from the still. The stupidly consistent atmosphere on the ship felt useful again.

“Hey, don’t you look good!” Seelix called to her, turning to walk backwards down the hall and give thumbs up.

Cally smiled for the second time in weeks, and held back the wince.

The deck seemed just as alive as any other place on the ship—bustling people, clinking metal, and a vibe like the day before Yuletide. An oilslick smell made her realize that it was familiar to her, like a home. Maybe that was a little sad, but she didn’t care. The earlier smile must still have been on her face, because Chief didn’t look guilty for once as he waved at her. Cally found her name on the task-sheet and hiked up her belt to load it with tools.

“Hey,” came a clipped voice from behind her.

Cally turned, and saw a woman approaching. She wore civilian’s clothes, grey trousers and a faded red shirt that looked even more faded when compared to the sheen of her scarlet hair. “Hey,” Cally answered back without thinking, trying to place the woman. Then, looking past the tight lines at the corners of the her mouth, Cally’s eyes widened— “You’re Jean Barolay?”

The woman’s mouth barely quirked. “Yes,” she said a rising tone. “I was.”

Cally didn’t know what to say to a double celebrity, so she smiled a little. Starbuck’s mission hadn’t been secret, but Cally hadn’t thought...not past the word ‘C-bucs’. “Hi,” she said, wondering if she was flushing as she reached out her hand. “I’m Cally Henderson.”

Jean’s grip was a little rough, hard, as if she was more used to using her hands to fight. And she probably was, when Cally thought twice, even though her face didn’t look threatening.

“It’s—it’s really nice you made it,” Cally said, and regretted the awkwardness as soon as it was out of her mouth.

“Yeah,” was all Jean said, with only half a stare. She crinkled her nose, next, a tricky moment of her own. “I know everyone’s all psyched about this new planet, but I need to talk to someone about a job up here. On a ship.” She gestured firmly downward with her hand, looking Cally in the eye. “Not...military. But I don’t think I’d last too far away either.”

Cally nodded slowly, curious about the thoughts that so clearly simmered behind the words, but distracted by something more obvious. “Okay...but why are you talking to me?”

Jean glanced around the deck with a frown, an expression that looked like it came too easily to her. “You’re not the deck officer? I thought the uniform...”

Cally glanced down at herself and laughed, and didn’t notice if it hurt. “Oh gods,” she said. “No, I’m supposed to be wearing a jumpsuit over these. I’m just—there’s a deck chief, that’s who you’ll want to see.”

“Oh.” Jean’s lips pursed momentarily.

Cally’s smile widened a little, awkwardness forgotten in the feeling that this was just another nicely non-perfect person. Her hand waved, directionless, as she felt the urge to help.

Jean didn’t ask where Chief was, though. She didn’t ask anything else, either. Her grey eyes, almost distant, held Cally’s in a too-long stare.

Smile wavering, Cally shifted her weight. “What?”

The former C-buc tipped her head towards Cally, still standing a good few paces off. “You do realize that we lost our homes, right? This ship—everyone—the way you smile—” Her face was almost pained, frustrated.

Cally felt her heart twist over, her hands clench automatically. Some emotions she didn’t plan to touch, but it seemed like Jean didn’t mince around walls and barriers. Cally was supposed to like that. But—“We aren’t dumb,” she said, feeling her jaw clench, feeling it hurt in more ways than one this time. “I was there when we crashed on Kobol, and when I had to see my friends bleed to death, and when the Cylons didn’t stop coming. That doesn’t mean—anything.”

Jean didn’t flinch. She swallowed. “Yeah,” she said, almost gruff as she didn’t quite look in Cally’s eyes. “That.”

With that, Cally’s heart started to untwist, even with a little more bitterness than just moments before. “It’s just,” she said, not knowing why she needed to say it so badly, “we can’t stop caring about life.”

“Good for you, then,” Jean said under her breath. Stance tightening up a little more, she made to turn on her heel, arms tight over her chest.

“You don’t talk to anyone about any of that, do you?” Cally asked, bold in her lingering frustration.

Jean glanced back. “Talking doesn’t really do much.”

Cally pressed her lips together, and without thinking said shortly, “Obviously you’ve never been really drunk.”

For a moment she thought Jean was going to just stare at her. Considering how hard the woman had been so far, how careful, it would have been unsurprising to Cally. But a cracked chuckle escaped the red-haired woman. “Haven’t had a good drink in over a year now.”

Cally’s laugh was a bit more to cover up her insecurity. “Me neither. But someone’s told you about the moonshine, right?”

Jean’s eyes shifted, as if she was looking over a vast amount of information, wondering how to summarize it. “I haven’t really met— Look, our resistance was enough for me, I don’t need a fleet now.”

“Are you calling me a fleet?” Cally retorted, crossing her arms. The distance between them seemed merely incidental now.

Jean stared at her again before dropping dry words. “Maybe. If you don’t get me a drink.”

Cally smiled, truly, for the third time in weeks. “I guess I have no choice then,” she said.

“Nope,” Jean said shortly, and shrugged her shoulders loose.

Cally couldn’t help it. Even if the worlds were gone, even if her heart had been ripped out of her chest and put roughly back in place, even if her frakking jaw was still a little sore...winning over Jean's gruffness made her feel momentarily smug.

*

The still was neatly located, out of the way of everything. Engine parts made a warmth and a hum, the orange-hued light adding saturation to military grey and war-pale skin. No one but them had bothered to hang around, and two chairs were all they needed other than the booze.

Cally’s mouth had gaped a little when Jean gulped back her first shot, looking like Starbuck if Starbuck had ever been unaccustomed to drinking hard. The former C-buc choked, but held out her glass for more with a glow in the back of her eyes. Not a warm one, but it wasn’t a bad start.

Cally forced herself not to feel weird like this, with someone whose face she recognized—not from personal experience, but from too-useless memories of days at one of her brothers’ house, cheering at all the faces on the television.

“I should say sorry for the hangover in advance,” she said a little while in.

“Can’t kill me, that’s what matters,” Jean said, cradling the glass in her hand. A little of the iron in her shoulders had dissipated after taking a seat.

“Well, that’s debatable.”

“I’m good,” Jean murmured.

Cally poured some more of the sharp necessity into her cup, felt the scent tickle harshly at her nose before gnawing at the back of her throat when she took a sip. The very room smelled of a forgetful buzz, even before the first half-glass was downed. Jean was already on her third one, but Cally wasn’t going to tell her how to drink.

“Yeah, I’m good,” Jean breathed out to the silent space between them.

“No, you’re not,” Cally retorted under her breath.

“Well, frak, when you’re supposed to make your living throwing a ball, and you don’t, that’s kind of expected.” Jean’s eyes sparked for a second.

“I was supposed to be a dentist,” Cally responded, sipping slowly at the moonshine.

Jean choked again. “You know, I’m not sure which story beats which.”

“Neither,” Cally said. Her throat burned a little, and she breathed past it. “It’s all gone, so it doesn’t matter.”

Jean leaned forward on her knees after refilling her glass, loose red bangs falling over her face. “That’s not true. You wish it was...but it’s still there. In your eyes. As long as you don’t look at other people, you don’t see it, but you can’t exactly avoid that.”

Cally swallowed hard, feeling her eyes starting to blur, and hoping it was tears because she didn’t _feel_ drunk enough. “I guess it’s better than nightmares, though.”

Jean sat back, chewing the inside of her cheek while one hand twitched on her knee. “I never have nightmares.”

Cally looked at her, about to say something about good luck, but the fire in Jean’s eyes had died for a moment.

“Sometimes I’m not sure if I’m all still here, you know?” Jean waved her glass, her pale lips thin with the tension. “Like if I stopped listening, doing...I don’t know. I don’t know.”

Cally rocked a little in her seat. Her stomach felt heavy, memories pooling there of all the times she’d just wanted something tangible to fight for. Not Earth. Something else. But the sharp lines of Jean’s body and face reminded Cally that maybe these close quarters were better. Maybe it was better to make people your home more than a place.

“Do you know Kara Thrace?” Jean asked suddenly, filling her glass again, sucking at her wrist when her arm jerked and she splashed a little.

Cally almost chuckled. “Yeah.”

“I don’t know what was up with her, but she acted like Caprica was something special,” Jean said. “Anders was like that, before. But we all...gods, I don’t know when it happened, but someday we weren’t fighting for our homes anymore. We were fighting for a godsforsaken hell. I don’t know why anyone would want to go back to that on this new planet.”

Staring at the floor for a moment, Cally scraped her foot back and forth to feel the deck, solid and uniform beneath it. “Well, sometimes up here it feels like you’re fighting for a prison.”

Jean didn’t say anything for a moment. Then, “I guess we’re all doomed.”

Cally made herself laugh at that, though. It wasn’t a true smile that made her jaw twinge, but she kept it there. “At least we don’t have to worry about making mistakes.”

Jean’s chuckle was painful, finishing it with, “Other than people dying.”

“Frak that,” Cally mumbled, and took a too-large sip of the moonshine. “The frakking toasters kill people. The only mistakes we make are not shooting them.”

“Well, there’s truth in that,” Jean said. Holding her glass, full once again, she sat there—not happy, but for a moment not bitter either. There was clarity in her eyes as she met Cally’s. “You’re not a soldier, Cally Henderson.”

“Nope,” Cally answered shortly.

“Neither am I,” Jean sighed, holding out her glass to toast. “Neither am I.”

Cally leaned over to clink her glass against Jean’s, and in a single awkward move they drank down the bitter draught.

“Okay, I’m getting seriously drunk,” Jean muttered with a half-stumble in her words, even as she grabbed the jar of moonshine yet again.

“I told you that was the point.”

“Stop me before I end up weeping all over you, please,” the C-buc answered. “I think I want to stay out of emotion for a while more, you know?”

“I get it,” Cally said, still drinking. Only a part of her did, but it was enough. There was a truth to Jean, hiding under non-emotions even as her words were blunt. Cally knew the truth in herself, as well, covered in happiness that looked so different but was the same safety net underneath.

Knowing Chief, knowing Seelix, knowing Laird, knowing everybody on this deck crew...Cally knew that Jean would fit in if she got the job she’d first asked for. At least for now. The planet had brought out a weird form of truth in everyone, that didn’t really seem like it. Cally could sense it, though, and it wasn’t bad.

And with enough alcohol, it was possible that Jean would join Cally in remembering how to care about life. No smugness in that win, but Cally could smile a true smile again. Maybe that time Jean wouldn’t have to question it.


End file.
